


Assumptions

by Xavantina



Category: A Series of Unfortunate Events (TV), A Series of Unfortunate Events - Lemony Snicket
Genre: Birthday Party, Dancing, Ernest thinks he's very clever but he has no idea what's going on, M/M, Not Actually Unrequited Love, The Author is Back on Her Bullshit, how is Sugar Bowl Gen fluff becoming my thing?, luckily both Beatrice and Bertrand know better
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-11
Updated: 2020-10-11
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:08:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26947972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xavantina/pseuds/Xavantina
Summary: Ernest is quite certain that Frank is tragically in love with Beatrice.
Relationships: Bertrand Baudelaire/Frank Denouement
Comments: 14
Kudos: 12





	Assumptions

**Author's Note:**

> Did I get this beta read? Of course I didn't. Did I even edit it? Nope. But I hope you'll forgive the occasional typo to enjoy this classic foray into SBG fluff. I am back on my bullshit.

Ernest can move very silently - when he wants to, that is. Usually his modus operandi is to start talking while he is approaching you, let people know he’s coming to put them at ease even before letting his affable demeanor do the rest. It works surprisingly well, even with members of the VFD, who really ought to know better than to fall for that rather simple technique.

But tonight Ernest allows the music and chatter of the hotel ballroom to drown out the sound of his swift footsteps, which is why Frank only notices him when he appears behind Frank’s left shoulder, leaning in and speaking in his ear, just loud enough to be heard over all the noise; “She’s looking quite radiant this evening, isn’t she?”

Frank doesn’t jump, but that’s only due to his years of training, training that drilled into him the importance of not showing the sort of weakness you show when being outwardly startled by something. If they think they can surprise you and you’ll be alarmed by that, it gives your opponent the upper hand.

So Frank remains perfectly still and keeps his expression carefully blank while Ernest moves to stand by his side, where he can observe Frank better, making it easier for him to tailor his words for maximum effect if Frank shows even a modicum of emotion. He decides not to give his brother the pleasure tonight.

Now for an equally pressing issue; what the hell Ernest is talking about. Frank had been idly watching the crowd from his position at the edge of the bar, and while his eyes did have a tendency to land on a particular gentleman, that doesn’t warrant… oh. Ernest thinks he’s been looking at the man’s dance partner.

To be fair, out of the two of them, who wouldn’t be looking a Beatrice? 

Frank almost smiles when he realizes the extent of his brother’s miscalculation. But only almost. He needs to decide how to respond, and the obvious choice is to confirm Ernest’s own suspicions to draw him off the scent and keep Frank’s secret carefully protected. 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he says, keeping his tone neutral.

Ernest does what anyone would do and takes that denial as solid confirmation that he is correct. “You can’t take your eyes off her, Frank, and you’re not being subtle.”

That much is becoming obvious, and he’s lucky that Ernest is making false assumptions based on who would be more likely to be the centre of anyone’s attention, otherwise Frank would be in trouble.

He still might be, he realizes, when Ernest raises his hand and calls out “Beatrice!” loud enough to be heard from the dance floor.

Beatrice does look radiant tonight, in a deep red ballgown that sways along with her when she waltzes across the floor, and when she sharply turns her head in their direction, her dark curls bounce, a visually appealing sight. When she locates them, she immediately turns to her dance partner and whispers something in his ear. He kisses the back of her hand and lets her go. As she approaches the two brothers, her smile grows increasingly bright, even when she’s aiming it at Ernest. 

“Good evening, gentlemen,” she says once she has reached them. “You throw quite the party.”

Frank allows himself a reaction, the hint of a smile, because he actually did a lot of the planning and he is a little bit proud of the results, but mostly it’s to keep up the charade.

As he hoped, Ernest sees the change in his expression and misinterprets it once more, and out of the corner of his eye Frank can see him beaming, practically shaking with excitement at what he thinks is a surefire way to gain a new advantage over his brother.

“My brother might be a bore most of the time, but he knows the theory behind casual human interaction and enjoyment at least,” Ernest says, “And sometimes that’s enough to plan a great party.”

Frank lets his face darken a little at the casual insult just to keep Ernest thinking he’s winning this game.

And he must be quite confident that he is, because he goes straight for the jugular next; “You look stunning tonight, Beatrice.” He turns to his brother. “Don’t you think so, Frank?”

God, he is so predictable. If he didn’t know any better, Frank would think it was all a clever double bluff of some sort, rather than a serious attempt to humiliate him and make him uncomfortable.

At least he knows how Ernest expect him to react – defensively - and he might as well give him the pleasure. “Quite,” he says, tilting his chin up a little to appear haughty.

Beatrice purses her lips to keep from smiling, and then immediately loses the struggle and grins anyway. “Such a charmer,” she teases.

Ernest laughs, delighted. The would-be puppet master, always so proud of his work, to the point where he doesn’t even think to stop and consider the validity of his theories once in a while. 

“Would you care to dance, Frank?” Beatrice asks, and for a moment Frank just stares at her. He hasn’t had the time to consider what game _Beatrice_ is currently playing, and it’s disturbing his equilibrium to a worrisome degree.

“Of course he would,” Ernest replies for him, voice laced with amusement, “He loves dancing.”

Frank hates dancing, and everybody knows it, Beatrice included, so it is extremely frustrating when she holds out her hand in invitation. Frank considers scowling and refusing, but then remembers that he’s supposed to be secretly, tragically in love with her, and takes her hand.

He knows how to dance, of course, they all learned the usual ballroom dances during their training. Frank happens to be quite good at it too, he just doesn’t enjoy dancing in public. Not like Beatrice, who is so eager that she’s constantly in danger of taking the lead from him. 

As soon as Frank has his hand on her waist, she leans into him and whispers in his ear, “Is he watching?”

Frank smoothly twirls them around to the music, checking. “He is.”

Beatrice snorts, “He’s dumber than he looks,” she says, “We might as well take advantage?”

She’s right, so Frank pulls her closer to his body, much closer than is expected in a classic waltz. “He thinks it’s unrequited,” he tells her.

Beatrice chuckles, finally beginning to let Frank lead for real. “Should I play into that?”

“Would you be rude enough to look uncomfortable to be near me, if you thought I was in love with you and you didn’t return my feelings?” Frank asks.

“Of course not,” Beatrice replies, “I’m not a monster.”

“Then you should probably act like you’re politely playing along.”

“We should be cheek to cheek,” Beatrice announces. “Feel free to subtly smell my hair.”

He does so once they are turned around so Ernest can see the gesture. It smells nice, he distantly notes.

They keep dancing until the song starts to wind down, and which point Beatrice orders him, “dip me,” and Frank does as he’s told, carefully supporting her as she leans back in an elegant arch.

The music ends and scattered applause breaks out while the band takes the time to bow before starting the next song. Frank slowly becomes aware that a lot more eyes are on them than he’d expected, and his gut-reaction is to quickly let go of Beatrice and step back. It’s what he would do if he was secretly in love with her and didn’t want people to know, which is probably why Beatrice, always the actress, allows it.

“Should we get you a drink?” she asks breezily.

“Please.”

Ernest is standing right where they left him, at the bar, and he has apparently ordered drinks for them, because Larry is already putting down glasses when they approach. The waiter gives Frank a meaningful look, then reaches for the bottle of their most expensive scotch and pours him a double. Beatrice gets the same.

He sure that this is Larry’s attempt to help him keep up the act, he’s too observant to fall for it like Ernest is. Frank grabs the glass and knocks back the drink in a couple of mouthfuls, very aware of Ernest’s eyes still on him. 

“Mind if I claim this next dance?” he asks Beatrice while smiling slyly at Frank.

Beatrice inclines her head gracefully. “Of course.”

Ernest holds out his arm and Beatrice accepts it, letting him lead her onto the floor without looking back at Frank. An excellent move on her part, Frank thinks.

He sees Bertrand coming, and even if he hadn’t, Bertrand is already talking as soon as he’s in earshot, “Good evening, Frank,” he greets pleasantly. “What was all that about?”

Frank sighs. “Ernest thinks I’m in love with your wife.”

Bertrand laughs, actually laughs. “Oh dear,” he eventually manages. “That’s tragic.”

“Very tragic,” Frank agrees, eyeing Bertrand warily. He isn’t entirely sure whether Bertrand _knows_ yet, and he doesn’t want to show his cards too soon.

“To be fair, you were watching us quite intently,” Bertrand teases. “You can’t blame him for making some assumptions.”

“I suppose not.”

Bertrand smiles gently at him. “She looks beautiful tonight... -”

“She looks beautiful every night,” Frank points out.

Bertrand ignores him. “And I look very handsome in this tux,” he finishes.

At this point Frank desperately wants another drink, but he probably shouldn’t be clouding his judgement further. “That you do,” he admits instead, a giant leap of faith that he normally wouldn’t make, but Bertrand is still smiling and moving a little closer to him, sliding right into his personal space.

“Do I get a dance as well?” he asks, partially joking, partially outright flirtatious.

Frank swallows and tries to keep his expression neutral. “I don’t think that would be the best idea.”

Bertrand has the audacity to look disappointed before he looks understanding. “Keeping up appearances, as always.”

“Some of us has to,” Frank says.

For a moment Bertrand’s reaction borders on pity, but then a small smile tugs at the corner of his lips. “Come with me,” he says, and starts walking away without looking back to check if Frank is following him. 

Frank follows.

Bertrand leads them to the edge of the ballroom and ducks under the velvet rope stretched across the stairs leading to the rear mezzanine, which Ernest had decided to close off for the night, probably to avoid too many areas where people could linger, scan the crowd, and have secret conversations. Tonight is supposed to be about having fun after all.

There’s no light up here, so as long as they keep away from the edge, they’re hidden in shadow. That’s definitely the only reason why Frank allows Bertrand to place one hand on his hip, grab his hand with the other, and pull him flush up against him. Frank lets him lead them in a slow dance that doesn’t quite match the tempo of the song the band is playing below, but no one can see them anyway, no one will judge, so Frank follows without protest. Neither does he object when Bertrand gently leans into him until they’re cheek to cheek, or when Bertrand kisses him soon after.

It’s a bit unlike Bertrand to be so forward, Frank think, as he is pressed back against the wall, but he isn’t about to complain, not with Bertrand’s lips dragging down his neck, along his jaw, finally meeting Frank’s in another heated kiss. It’s nice. More than nice.

He sighs in disappointment when Bertrand breaks the kiss, vaguely noticing that this song is ending too. More applause from the crowd, and for a second Frank irrationally worries that someone has seen them. 

“Don’t worry. We’re perfectly safe up here.” Bertrand whispers when he notices Frank tensing.

‘Until my nosy brother starts looking for us’, Frank thinks, but he doesn’t say anything, mostly because Bertrand is running his fingers through his hair now, digging his fingers into Frank’s scalp and guiding him into another kiss.

At some point Bertrand briefly lets up, only to murmur, “Hey, Frank?”

“Yes?”

He feels Bertrand smile against this cheek. “Happy birthday.”


End file.
